as inevitable as the sun and stars
by therewithasmile
Summary: With a simple swish, his new teacher twirled her sword and tucked the hilt under her elbow. "And as you can see," she said calmly, almost ruthlessly emotionless in both expression and tone, "your number one mistake is underestimating the enemy." / A recounting and study of early Felix, Byleth, and their relationship up until Byleth goes through her transformation. Oneshot, Complete


_I started writing this on the bus on a note app, and suddenly I'm home and I'm 6 k deep._

_Just as suddenly, I wrote the last sentence, and for Felix, it just felt right to stop._

_There will be a second part, most likely, either as chapter 2 or as a different work, but I'm marking it complete as now, as I kind of like it this way._

...

_a_s inevitable as the **sun** and **stars**

...

The first time he laid his eyes on her, Felix had expected much more. He'd been told that she was raised by mercenaries, ruthless in striking down bandit after bandit when she'd come to the lords' aids - daughter of Jeralt, whose own reputation preceded him, legends of the knight's captain-turned-mercenary have travelled so far that it had made its way to the Kingdom's frigid north and onto his doorstep.

Yes, when Felix first laid his eyes on Byleth, he was, quite honestly, underwhelmed.

Her eyes were wide as a doe's and her skin was as smooth as fresh cream. She had full cheeks and soft arms and, really, had anyone told him that she was the one - who had saved the boar's life, by some odd joke from the four Saints had been recommended as his new teacher – he'd laugh, crudely, and demand an explanation, as it was _absolutely not funny _and was, if anything, pure mockery.

But, she _was_ his new teacher and she _had_ saved the boar's life and, before he knew it, his ass hit the ground _hard_. Before a single breath could escape his body, she had aimed a sharpened wooden point just under the jut of his chin.

With a simple _swish_, his new teacher twirled the practice sword with a flourish before tucking the hilt under her elbow. "And as you can see," she said calmly, almost ruthlessly emotionless in both expression and tone, "your number one mistake is underestimating the enemy."

Embarrassment burned red hot in Felix's temples and only served to highlight the throbbing ache that began to pulsate through his back. He ignored his comrades who stood off to the side, choosing to not react to a stifled snort that was undoubtedly Sylvain's and the concerned glance that was easily Ashe's. No, he _absolutely_ refused to let them affect him. Felix pounced onto his feet and swiveled forward, wooden blade raised high to strike-

But his teacher parried, blunt side of her sword clashing against his before her lower momentum and movement allowed her the strength and leverage to knock him aside. A sharp pain suddenly spiked near his ribs as she jabbed forward with an elbow and - yet again - two expert and well-aimed blows and – _bam! _\- he found himself on the ground yet again, chest heaving, breath shallow on his ribs, and his chin forced upwards due to the tip of her wooden weapon.

"Drive and brute force isn't enough," his professor continued, undeterred, as if he hadn't just lunged for her. Something in her feather-light voice, raspy perhaps from disuse but not at all affected by him, drove him mad. "You would be surprised at how many men who've gone their whole lives being strong find themselves bested by others who are simply quicker." She paused, and Felix loathed the way her skin, so soft, so creamy, remained exactly so. As if she exerted no effort. As if she hadn't completely handed his ass to him, _twice_, without it feeling like she tried at all.

"Strength has a limit," she was saying, entire body now turned away from him, the heap on the floor, and instead towards the rest of his house. "Skill does not. Remember that. Class dismissed," she called, a little louder this time, and it was almost immediate that his housemates shifted from their observational stance and began to chatter excitedly, undoubtedly at his expense. While it wasn't humiliation that began to settle as the foreground of his aching body, Felix absolutely did not want to give his teacher the satisfaction that he felt simmering underneath her carefully even tone. He rolled onto back over, feeling tendrils of aching pain slowly unfurling from the spot where he landed, before heaving himself onto his feet, and ready to slide around her and join his house.

That is, until her voice, just as even as ever, betraying nothing except for maybe _boredom_, called, "Fraldarius."

Somewhere, deep down, a _petty _side that he barely knew he possessed, wanted do to nothing but stalk past her in defiance. But Felix paused nonetheless, her piercing eyes trained on his back – that much he was certain of, as just the mere thought of it caused heat to divert from his soreness and up into his ears.

There was another whirring in the air, no doubt his professor twirling the blade deftly in those soft fingers, before it stopped. "I can tell you've been trained in swordsmanship."

Several impolite responses that would've made Mercedes gasp and even more emotions that would've made Ingrid lecture him flashed through his body, each one going on to simply annoy him more than the next. He only grunted in response, and if there was more she wanted to say, he pointedly ignored her, and stalked off before she could get another word.

...

It didn't matter who the opponent was – the end result was always the same. With Dedue and all his towering imposition, all it took was a sly foot, a hard jab, and a solid hit to his side before his teacher pressed edge of her sword against his neck. With Sylvain, light on his feet and quick to chirp half taunts and flirts that fell on deaf ears, she sank down onto her haunches, languid like water, and ducked under his outstretched arm, barreled upwards with her forearm, and Gauntier could barely swallow his swear before she poked his throat with the tip of her blade. With Annette, whose eyes had grown wide, well, the redhead quickly passed on the lesson, stammering something about preferring to study reason. And so the professor gave a low nod, before turning to him.

"Fraldarius," she beckoned, redundantly, and she was ever so stoic, ever so _bored. _As if he wasn't paying attention, as if the sudden anticipation at the thought of beating her hadn't fueled his steps.

They sank into a light guard stance, wooden swords drawn, and Felix breathed.

He'd been watching her recently, observing his sword technique. Sure, he could've convinced himself it was under the guise of _learning_, but really, deep down he knew he only observed to _win._ It would be a statement, as it were; a statement he couldn't fulfill now that his brother was dead, but this would have to do.

She would strike with her right hand, as she'd done with Dedue, and liked to use her upwards momentum to catch other unware, like she had with Sylvain. Felix knew that, and so he lunged forward, arm tense to move.

As he predicted, she reached to parry with her right. Simple – all it took was a flick of the wrist, a twist of the body, and he was able to maneuver to strike out on her left. He saw her eyes widen – the sweetness of victory caressed his muscles, drove his adrenaline to spike – but then she stepped, swerved, and where he had been bracing for impact of wood to torso instead became wood to nothing.

Felix was quick to retract, before his professor could slide under him. He took a step back, and breathed.

But that was his mistake.

Suddenly she lunged for him, _different _from what he'd seen before – as she'd always been reactionary – and Felix found himself on the defensive.

_Thwack._

The blow suddenly came from his left, her right; that much he saw coming – and he deflected.

_Thwack._

Insistent, in a way, as he met her upward swing with his downward one: wood met wood, equal in momentum, evenly matched.

Felix read her intention before she could follow through – she slid forward, movement unbroken, almost laughably simple, like the next step of a dance – but he saw it coming, and he adjusted. Scooted his torso just enough away, so that her jab met nothing but air, and Felix couldn't help the satisfied smirk that began to bloom on the corner of his lips.

Suddenly, pain blossomed from his forearm – then his elbow, and the smirk fell quickly from his mouth. Instead, an expletive made its way out before it was forced back in, from a haggard gasp he barely managed, as suddenly his _right _side exploded with white hot fire. It could've been three or four blows, at this point the shock that flooded his system hindered his ability to really tell what was going on, but then the sudden hardness of the ground striking up like lightning against his thigh, as dull pain shot its way through each muscle, more or less told him she'd bested him. Again.

His teacher stood over him, sword dangling in her _left _hand. "Versatility is your friend," she said, frustratingly not to him, but to the class. "If an enemy can live to see you fight twice, at least make it a different fight the second time."

As much as he wanted to, Felix bit back the groan as he rolled upright. Yet again, his stupid classmates watched with wide eyes, and he really didn't want to see the reactions. Ashe's mouth hanging open. Ingrid's smug smile. Mercedes' concerned gaze. The boar's undivided attention.

"Fuck," Felix hissed, and the professor completely ignored him. Again.

"You are to devise two pages worth of theorems on how to use your preferred weapon or school of magic in a new way, to cover your own weaknesses," his professor commanded. "And we'll put them to the test in four days. If you are unsure of your own weaknesses, come speak to me. Class dismissed."

And with the usual sign off, the class once again broke off into groups. And just like before, Felix blocked out the sounds of their conversation, brain whirring trying to process what had just happened.

The jab was a fake out –it had to have been. With her left elbow, she had at that point actually switched her sword over to other hand. And as he was focusing on dodging her jab, she had already gathered the momentum she needed to crush the wooden blade against his arm, and then a second time: at his elbow. Had it not been a wooden sword and this not a training session, he suspected he would've lost that entire limb with that maneuver. It was dirty, it was brutal, and it absolutely worked against him.

It was after the reflection did he realize she was staying back. The last student to filter out had long since done so, and suddenly he was aware it was just the two of them, and he was still a dishevelled heap on the floor. He pulled himself to his feet, sides aching, before his teacher finally turned to him, blue eyes thoughtful but otherwise unreadable.

"Good effort today, Fraldarius," she said simply.

_Good effort. _But it wasn't enough, _clearly_. If it was supposed to put him at ease, to reassure him he'd somehow _improved_, it only caused irritation to prick at his spine. _Good effort _wasn't going to help him win. _Good effort_ didn't mean he could outmaneuver her. _Good effort _wouldn't have saved his arm had this been a real fight.

"_Good effort_ isn't enough," he voiced without really thinking, and he noticed her eyebrow raise, just a bit, before he swerved around her and ducked out of the room.

...

Felix tossed the papers onto her desk, in a way that made the sheets separate ever so slightly as they made contact on her wooden surface, in a way that he wanted something – _anything – _to betray those impassive blue eyes and smooth cream skin. But he failed, as always, as his professor looked down. It took two jostles between her lithe fingers before his assignment was together again, and then her eyes flitted up to his own, for just a second, enough to set off another low burn of irritation in his stomach – just say something, _anything – _before she set her gaze back down.

The seconds seemed to stretch for minutes and then hours, as she took her sweet time reading through his notes, as if every bit of his soul, the part of it that fought, at least, was laid bare in his messy scrawl.

For the first time, the corner of her mouth betrayed her. Just a small twitch upward, and enough to send a jolt like a firecracker down his spine.

"I said differently," she said, smoothly, as if that little bit of emotion had never happened.

"I did." He was careful to reply just as evenly. And then, just a touch more insistently at her silence: "It _is _different."

"No it's not," she replied. "This is still formal training. This is still _you. _This is how to beat a specific person. Me, as it were," she added, almost _bored_, and there it was again, the little twitch on the corner of her mouth.

Felix wanted nothing more than to snatch the papers from her clutches. He ignored the burning that suddenly ignited along the points of his cheeks. "So? It's different. I haven't beat you before."

"Fraldarius,"she sighed, and for a moment, that uncomfortable heat easily transformed into indignation. She sounded like a mother scolding a child. "That wasn't the point of the assignment. And as it stands, you _won't_ beat me, not with this." She shook his assignment lithely with her hand.

The fire burned hotter, so much so that he could feel it behind his temples, and he couldn't help it when his voice cracked out. "How do you _know?_"

When he locked eyes with her, it was all he needed to _know._

For a second, the mask slipped: in those aqua depths, he could almost carve out the experience of battle. The many foes she faced, and the many more she cut down. Those who claimed to be strong. Those who claimed to be talented. In the end, all the same.

_Like him._

When she spoke next, it wasn't unkind. "You're talented, and you've trained with a sword from a young age. I could always tell. But you've learned only one way. A formal way. Very _noble_, actually." Was that… _sarcasm _Felix detected in her voice? But as soon as he'd noticed it, it was gone and was replaced by that mask.

"But that way is…. stiff. Unchanging." She continued, her voice hard, unreadable. "You learn enough, sure, but is it good to take on trained mercenaries, who've spent their whole lives fighting Kingdom soldiers? Empire men? _Alliance _forces? Could you get in there with a sword against a magic user, who'd flip you over and spin you aside like a top, and _then _be serious about harming you? Would it be able to pierce the flesh of a wyvern, a Pegasus, when their riders have the upper-hand _and _ground?"

Each word pierced him like a lance, over and over, and for the first time – in a _very _long time – Felix allowed a trickle of doubt flood his heart. "Alright," he conceded, almost venomous, almost too quiet. "I get it. You don't have to …. shove it in my face."

He wished she _was_, so that he'd at least someone to pin these churning emotions on. But she wasn't, and Felix knew that. He didn't dare meet her eyes again, those aqua depths that were somehow both endless yet betrayed nothing at all, and didn't move as he heard her chair scrape back and the sound of her getting on her feet.

The emotions churning in his stomach, anger – humiliation – shame – _determination – _took his breath away. His professor took two, maybe three steps, before he blurted: "teach me."

She paused.

Felix inhaled hastily, the incoming surge of air doing nothing to quell the raging fire that was his emotions. "Teach me. To fight. Like you. Teach me," he couldn't help but to repeat, again, into her back.

"No."

The fire grew stronger, wilder – and Felix wasn't sure _what _emotion it was he was feeling, but it was all too much –

"Not until you finish your assignment. Properly, this time," she said, as she turned around – and she was _grinning_, broadly, and it did something weird to his heart. "For tomorrow."

"I'll have it done in two hours," he said, almost breathlessly, and she _laughed. _Just once, before becoming serious again.

"Then I'll see you in two hours in the training grounds, Fraldarius."

...

It was barely one and a half hours later when Felix arrived at the training grounds, and she was already there, sword in hand, a second by her feet, lashing once then twice into the empty air. _Beat me again, _he couldn't help but to think, and he came forward, paper clutched in his hands.

From her body language, Felix could tell she was more than aware that he was there, though she made no move to turn to acknowledge him.

Instead, she sliced the air again. The motion left a sharp _whir_ that almost seemed to echo in the absence of other sounds. "Summarize your weaknesses for me," she said, her back still to him.

It did frustrate Felix, just a little, but if this was his ticket to improvement, it would be worth it to him. "My stance," he stated first. "I'm too rooted. If I'm to introduce more flexibility, I'd have to be lighter on my feet."

She _hmm_ed at his answer, at first promising, but then she slashed twice more into nothingness, and the whirring of her wooden blade caused irritation to prick at his spine. So Felix continued onwards, swallowing down the sudden impatience that boiled in his stomach.

"The next is my sword-arm stiffness overall," he prattled on, and she slashed the air again, the sound like a paper cut to his ears. "Sure, if I'm prepared to move away, I can be light then, but overall I need to be less stiff, ready to react."

Yet again was that irritating _hmm_, three more whirs of her sword, and Felix felt his temper build.

"Then-"

"-Fraldarius," she interrupted, and he stopped cold, words immediately dying on his throat, despite the mounting anger that he wanted nothing more to let loose. She turned then, and he found himself caught in that aqua stare – thoughtful, he found himself noting, even though it did nothing to ease the irritation in his stomach.

"You're not incorrect with all your observations," she said matter-of-factily, like it was entirely common knowledge from the beginning, like his entire fighting history was somehow summarized by scriers and his weaknesses highlighted in red ink. "And yet I think you have not identified the root of it all."

"What do you mean?" Felix almost demanded. He didn't like this, didn't like how her aqua eyes seemed like they could see right through him, know him so thoroughly as he thought he knew her – until she had handed him onto his ass, _again._

"Your weakness, summarized," she said unhelpfully, and before Felix could even allow that temper to overtake him, to wash over the doubt that had _once again _begun to seep into his bones, she elaborated. "I asked you to summarize and you forgot the most crucial part: that your weakness is, simply, your training."

The way she said it was so _obvious_ – of course it was his training. He thought that was implied in the first place. But she raised her eyebrows, like he should've _somehow _interpreted her as being less able to inference that much, so much so that the annoyance truly did bite at him this time, layering his words with more venom than he probably intended. "_I know_. That's why I'm here."

"Good," she said simply, undeterred. She tossed her blade at him, which he caught, before she kicked up the second one by her feet. She caught it deftly with one hand, and that _petty _part of him once again murmuring that she was just showing off. As if she could read his thoughts, something like a _smug _smile quirked her lip upwards. "Come at me, Fraldarius."

"And for the four Saints sake, make it different this time."

...

Felix stumbled into the dining room, body sore, legs aching, arms so heavy they felt like they could fall off. It was after the third lesson in private he'd had with the professor, where he'd held her off blow by blow – '_Good, Fraldarius!' _she had claimed as she lunged from him again – and it took a solid fifteen minutes before she'd shoved her blade under his chin, a sheen of sweat beginning to form over her creamy skin. A long soak after and he was feeling positively _drained_, like just those mere minutes had sapped all his energy and adrenaline and left him high and dry.

As if on cue, his stomach growled, and he glanced at the line, and swore.

It was long, that was for sure, snaking around the side and even threatening to spill to the outdoors on the other end. And yet Felix begrudgingly forced his feet forward, joining the back of the queue, glaring daggers at whomever was ahead of him, not that they were really getting any food much faster.

He swore again when he saw Manuela cut the line, as professors had the right to do, and for a split second _hoped _she could feel the intensity of his hunger as his eyes followed the professor to the table.

Then his eyes locked with aqua.

Felix nearly choked on his own spit.

"Fraldarius," she said calmly, _pleasantly¸_ and his own Professor was quite close to him, the only time closer had been when they were sparring. A quick glance at her and it was as if he'd imagined the slight sheen on her skin, the slickness in her front bangs, the slightly laboured breaths from merely moments ago. "Join me?"

For just the briefest of indulgent seconds, Felix felt the stoking of a small fire burn at the pit of his stomach. Irritation, humiliation, hunger, or _something more, _he didn't bother to confront any of it, not when she angled her body to the side – to reveal Sylvain, of all people.

He must've been frowning. "Think of it as a reward for doing so well," was her voice, but Felix could barely register it. Why Sylvain? What did he do? His stomach growled. He probably voiced that second thought out loud. "Gauntier?" she responded, and then Felix felt his ears burn. "He's been impressing me with his improvement in reason magic, actually. So it's my treat, for two of the most improved."

If it was supposed to reassure him, it only lit the firewood of irritation and then tossed it into the inferno in his stomach. _Most improved?_ Something about that felt diminutive. _Most improved_ was like the consolation prize for the sorry loser who placed last in the house tournaments. _Most improved _was no better than _better luck next time _and the irritation grew stronger even as he wrenched himself out of the line and followed his professor, fuming.

Even as they stalked past the line to the food, even as he picked up his tray filled with spicy foods - she'd somehow known, _again, _like he was an open book – even as Sylvain tittered at his side until Felix had shot him a withering glare, the raging fire at his stomach didn't cease. He placed his tray down and swung his legs over, his peripherals catching that his two would-be dinner companions doing the same. And then he waited for something, anything, fire still simmering in his stomach, the smell of his meal now contributing a dull ache of hunger to compliment the rest of his annoyance, and if his professor was about to give an invitation to start, well, it never happened.

He caught her eyes there, and then – _amusement _hedged out in the corners of her aqua eyes. "Aren't you hungry?" she said, and it was almost _teasing_.

Felix registered that somewhere, but the thought was fleeting as he was quick to load on a forkful of food. The flavours were rich and so immensely satisfying, the comfort of satiation heavy and pleasurable. The spices cut through his weariness like a knife, not enough to re-invigorate anytime soon - that wouldn't happen until he'd collapsed on his cot – but enough to feel the energy returning to his limbs, if only a means for him to get to said cot once he was done with his meal.

He knew Sylvain was chattering away, as he did, and Felix couldn't help his thoughts from wandering to _why the hell _Gauntier wasn't as ravenous like he was. Though Felix didn't particularly _care_, he caught glimpses of their conversation, something about the spice _spicing _up his mind, giving him new things to focus on, _is that a new shirt Professor? Because it's very flattering on you –_

And there was something so very self-satisfying at her perfect mask, cream skin soft and unyielding to Sylvain's advances. Her voice a smooth impassive as she responded to each increasingly prodding question, and then of all things, when Sylvain wasn't looking, she caught Felix's eye.

And she _winked._

...

Then, the next time he saw her eyes, they were puffy instead.

For a moment, one _crazy _moment, Felix almost stretched his hand out. To rest on her shoulder. To stop her in her tracks, tell her that he knew what she was going through, that he'd gotten through the grieving by training, that if she wanted it, he'd be there, to train with her, to help her through this.

But her eyes didn't meet his.

Felix watched her as she passed him, as she so often once did, but this time her hair was wet from rain, and her eyes churned with darkness and regret.

...

Felix had been wrong about her.

He knew that, of course, when she'd first handed him on his ass without so much as breaking a sweat. But everything, _absolutely _everything, was different than his initial impression.

So a small, very small, part of him was satisfied when he'd rightly predicted his professor would be waiting for him for their next training appointment. They'd scheduled it a couple days before deployment, and a couple days before they'd lost Jeralt. The professor was always punctual, he'd known – but perhaps _too _punctual, he realized, and he paused at the doorway.

Just like the first time, Felix just _knew _she knew he was there, even though she slashed at nothing, each _whir _of her training blade more vicious than the last.

The seconds stretched to what felt like minutes, and the anticipation and churning he didn't realize had been mounting in his stomach halted when she finally spoke.

"Not feeling it, Fraldarius?" light, almost teasing – if Felix didn't know her, heard her talk to him so much by now, he wouldn't have picked up the roughness in her voice, the rawness that could only have come from nights crying.

For a wild second, it was absolutely _unfathomable_ to Felix that she was here, of all places. She could be anywhere, _anywhere_, and it would make sense, and no one would want her elsewhere otherwise. He certainly wasn't cruel enough to expect her presence after her _father_ died, the four Saints be damned.

And though his thoughts simmered and raged, stirring like a storm ready to strike, his body did what it knew best – brought him over to the weapon rack, wrap its fingers around the hilt of a training blade.

She sunk into an attack stance.

In the – several – sessions they've had now, each time, she'd brought something different. Just as Felix had begun to learn and read what she would do, she'd change it, and he'd be back to that frustrating square one all over again. Though he felt the progress, the change in his stance, the newfound lightness in his touch and fluidity of his sword arm, it almost felt like it wasn't enough, not when facing her.

This time, she was aggressive. Each blow he managed to block, to shift his weight and be flexible in case she'd done something nasty like switch sword hands again. Again and again she lunged, and her eyes were fierce – _blazing –_

Maybe somewhere, he could understand it. He wasn't going to ask questions. He wasn't going to coddle her, like she was broken. He wasn't going to treat her any differently, even when working through this loss. If he was going to, he would've done it the first time she stalked past him, grief still fresh, as she shrugged off the hands and concerns of her other students and his housemates.

Their swords smacked as their hilts caught, and suddenly all of his strength was focused on keeping her back. She drove forward still, her expression firm, and her grip twisted and tightened, the soft arms he'd once disapproved of suddenly stiffening and rolling to reveal sturdy muscle that had roped its way around her bones. Felix hadn't realized that the marvel of it all had distracted him; one sudden shove and he found himself blundering backwards, barely able to collect himself, let alone dodge the next hit that swung dangerously close to his ears.

"_Concentrate, _Fraldarius," she snapped, and Felix had the sneaking suspicion that those words weren't for his benefit.

And so they continued, blow by blow, each one more heavy than the last, more _desperate_ as they raced to the point of total exhaustion_. _And yet she never cracked, never betrayed more than fierce concentration at the forefront of her expression, just barely covering the unending aqua ocean of turmoil that Felix could barely register, especially in the heat of their sparring.

And when he'd collapsed on the ground, heaving for breath, Felix recoiled and craned his face away from the quivering tip of her blade. He swatted it away from him and out of her hand; it clattered noisily some ways away from them.

She too, was breathing heavily, and before he knew it she doubled over, the gasping breaths loud and echoing just as noisily as her discarded weapon had. For a brief, betraying second, it was almost a marvel to look at – for so long, Felix wanted to see her like this, _and _claim this state as something _he'd _driven her to –

But the taste of victory was sour, and the smile that may have perked her lips didn't meet her eyes.

"Beat you again, Fraldarius," she said blithely, as if beating him was as certain as the sun rising the next day.

But for once, he didn't feel the usual stirs of fiery motivation in his stomach. Felix could only watch as she wordlessly picked up her discarded sword, then she slid his from his hands – they had fallen limp from exhaustion just trying to maintain her thunderous pace. She placed them back onto the rack, took a breath, then left.

A week later, just a certain as the sun setting in the evening, she was there at the usual time, already swinging her sword at nothingness. And after a while, just as certain as the promised nightfall that came after both, Felix found himself staring up the length of her wooden blade, breathing heavily and battered both outside and in, the tip of her weapon pointing steadily at his throat.

...

Felix snaked out of the way, steel sword catching the weight of the axe that had been struck down towards him. With his weight balanced on one leg, he twisted, dug down, and shoved upwards, _hard, _against the forearm. His opponent blundered back, arm flung back from the momentum – open –

He slashed out, quick and light, against his chest, a spurt of red blood erupting from where metal met flesh. A horrible gurgle came from his foe as he slumped over.

Perhaps it was the flurry of the battle and of movement that was quickly becoming familiar to him, but Felix could almost hear his professor's voice: '_Nice one, Fraldarius!' _or something to that effect. Though the compliments were scarce and her praises keep changing, it was promising. His professor was serious – and sometimes wasn't – but one thing was sure: she didn't hand out praise easily.

It had taken a while to get her to return to normal, and as much as he'd like to accredit himself for the more recent reversion of his Professor to her normal self, he knew it was the promise of this mission. A chance to hunt down her father's killer; she'd more or less thrown herself into the battle preparations, the training between the two of them less instructional and more like her honing her skills, gearing for this particular fight. She'd finally shown him how to do this move – officially, and not him trying to execute her signature overturn from merely observation alone.

For a second, he was _giddy_, a feeling that Felix hadn't felt for a long, long time, and for another second, that could've easily been eternity, he wanted to show his professor, to show that he _did _pick it up, _finally_, but he heard the whistle of her tunic and not the whir of her sword.

She was bounding forward, teal-blue hair a blur behind her, moving faster than Felix had seen before. For a brief moment, irritation – had she always held back on him, then, if this was her true speed? – but then concern chased it away. And before he could stop her, join her, she'd leapt up onto the embedded altar, lithe as a cat, and just as quickly reached out with her blade.

It was as if time had slowed, or maybe it had stopped entirely. Though Monica – no, _who was that – _lunged out of the way, his professor's sword extended, then unwound, like a whip, glowing red. It lashed outwards, just past the woman's ear, before slamming into the ground, a loud keening whistling past him before being swallowed by the trees beyond.

Felix couldn't watch, not when he sensed movement to his left. He scrambled out of the way as an arrow whizzed past him, and then he focused his attention to the trees. A small bit of movement caught his eye, just a brief rustling of bushes that could've easily been missed. He darted forward, not even _close _to his professor's speed, and quickly swerved to the other side, catching the archer off guard, even more so as he sunk the tip of his blade into the offender's neck.

The archer fell to his knees first, before slumping over, red staining the grass green.

"_Professor!"_

Dimitri screamed – and Felix's blood turned cold.

He ran from beyond the trees, swatting and cutting down the undergrowth that got his way, and stumbled back onto the battlefield, where no more enemies stood, and instead laid, mangled, slain by his classmates, bodies by their feet.

But the altar was purple, pulsating with vile magic, and the professor nowhere in sight.

Felix barreled forwards, sword dangling limply in loose fingers, before altogether slipping and falling, impact cushioned by the grass. But Felix hardly cared. He hardly cared at all, as he grabbed the boar's shoulders. "Where is she? Where's the professor?" Felix could hear his voice was hoarse, but he hardly cared. "Where is _Byleth_?"

"I don't know," Dimitri responded, stunned, broken. "She was – she was just there—"

Irritation, panic, and _fear_ almost made Felix's voice crack. "What do you _mean _she was just there –"

Dimitri's eyes showed absolutely nothing helpful. "- I—"

"—Answer me, you _boar –"_

"_Felix!" _was Mercedes, from somewhere to his right. She took two bounding steps forwards and, one finger at a time, pried his grip from Dimitri's shoulders. He turned to glare at her. Her hair was askew on her face, skin flushed red, but otherwise, her eyes were kind. "You're hurt."

"_Of course _I'm hurt," he spat back, but for all the venom he'd loaded into his words, she, too, seemed unfazed. _Like Byleth. _"I'll be fine – where's the _professor?"_

"We don't know!" Annette cried from the side, and the orange-haired mage came jogging forward. "We saw that _creep _who was pretending to be Tomas stick his hand right into Monica or whatever—"

"—Definitely not the way to treat a lady –" was Sylvain, somewhere, but Felix ignored him.

"—_not the point, _Gauntier," Annette dismissed quickly, voicing Felix's thoughts, "and then everything glowed purple and –"

"—she disappeared," finished Dedue, so simply, so _like _Byleth, that it made Felix's skin crawl.

Before he could get a word in, yet _another _arrow whizzed by his ear, and Felix whirled – _Seiros help whichever sorry archer loosed that shot – _but it embedded itself deeply into an enemy's soldier chest, one he hadn't even realized was still alive. Felix whipped his head back over to catch Ashe jogging up to them, bow slack in his hand.

A flapping of wings interrupted Ashe before he could even speak, and Ingrid slid off her mount. "No time to waste, guys. There are more reinforcements coming from the north," she spoke quickly, urgently, eyes blazing. "We can't let the professor's sacrifice be in vain—"

_Sacrifice?_

Felix's vision blurred, and perhaps, if he admitted it to himself, may have tainted red. Just like that, another failed promise to himself. Would they write about Byleth too, spread word of how she died heroically, protecting her students, like _Glenn? _Would he be forced to wander, looking for a new opponent, for someone to approve of him?

Was he about to be left alone –

—_Again?_

From the corner of his eyes, he could see his classmates moving – but how could they, _how could they so easily move – _and it was another spike of jealousy, of anger, of self-loathing; he couldn't seem to pull it together as easily as they could when _he _was the one who used to set the pace and –

—_and—_

— a beam of light halted all their movement, and for the second time, Felix's blood ran cold.

It must've been a cruel trick: on the altar, where he'd seen the professor before he'd gone off into the woods, was the source of the sudden light. At first, a beam, but then, widening, slowly, meticulously, and then – of all things – the tip of her sword.

In a bright light that didn't seem like it would ever fade, a backlit halo of greenish hair. Then her face, her full cheeks and cream skin, those deceptive arms that were not at all soft and were instead reinforced with muscle. Each inch of skin, limb by limb, dragged on, revealing more and more of Byleth, until her feet emerged as she more or less stepped from the light and what, incredulously in Felix's mind, must've been a literal _rip _in time…

And she turned to her students, to _him,_ eyes a bright viridian green, hardened and commanding, ready for battle.

For the briefest, dizziest second, somewhere within the flaming heat of elation and ice cold plunge of wonder, Felix thought he'd never seen someone more beautiful.


End file.
